


the fade makes monsters of us all

by ferbiedragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbiedragon/pseuds/ferbiedragon
Summary: In hindsight, bringing Isabela into the Fade had been a mistake.She'd expected better from Varric, though. Somehow.





	the fade makes monsters of us all

"You know what?" Hawke says, pushing open Varric's door and striding into his room without waiting for him to give the 'okay' because, first of all, it's not like she can _see_ anything she shouldn't anyway and, second, because she's a little put out with him at the moment. Rosie presses in beside her, walking just ahead, because she's a good girl who does her job. "I don't think I ought to forgive you. All things considered."

It's the first thing she's said to him since the evening previous, when she and him- and Anders and Isabela- had delved into the Fade to bring back the wayward Feynriel. She'd woken to find him and the pirate captain already gone, likely due to shame, which is a marvel because, until just that moment, Hawke hadn't thought either of them able to feel anything like it. Particularly Isabela. The woman goes around without pants on. Hawke has been told that's not the sort of thing someone with any deal of 'modesty' would ever do.

She'd assumed, though she'd never been told outright, that Isabela at least wears _something_ to cover herself, or else Aveline would have dragged her in for public indecency already. Their trip into the Fade has, at least, proved enlightening on that front. As angry as she is with the pirate, Hawke finds herself still appreciating her sense of style.

"Hawke-" she's startled him, she can tell by the way he says her name, and that gives her pause, because she's known him for a handful of months now and she hasn't managed to startle him once before today. Maybe it's the dog, she thinks. She brought Rosie along with her, for moral support if nothing else, although the mabari is wearing the harness with the little loop that Hawke can hold onto if she's ever not sure of her steps. For all her wonderful qualities, Rosie _smells_ like a dog, and that's usually enough to give anyone pause.

"Listen, Hawke." He tries again. "I'm so sorry about what happened- you know, back there-" and it comes out in a way that makes her think he's _rehearsed_ it, or something, and that just isn't going to do at _all_.

"Oh no, Varric, call it what it was." she walks over to where she knows his table is and sits down in one of the chairs. "A betrayal! Honestly, dwarf, I'm amazed I'm even speaking to you. I might truly be as charitable as you describe me in your stories, really, I might just be. Why," Rosie sits beside her, and Hawke puts a hand on the hound's head, "I'd even still speak to Isabela! Who isn't around, by the way, _if_ you haven't noticed, no doubt trying to escape my sharp-tongued wrath which, as we both know," she leans back and props her feet up on his table, "is a waste of time, because I'll find her eventually."

Varric is quiet. She wonders what it is she's interrupted; she doesn't feel any parchment under her boots, so she doesn't think he was writing letters, or stories, or... missives, or whatever it is he writes. Then she catches a faint whiff of something sharp and familiar, and she tilts her head. "Varric," she says slowly, "please don't tell me you've committed another betrayal and have been hiding _good_ whiskey in your rooms, while the rest of us all drank whatever swill Corff is serving up."

"Shit, Hawke." he walks over and she hears the sound of the bottle being moved. "I wasn't hiding it, I was... saving it. For special occasions." 

"Special occasions like offering up your friend to a demon?" she says, sweetly. "Well, I understand how that might be cause for celebration. Would it be at all possible that I could have a glass? Just to make the day a little sweeter, you understand."

He sighs, and pours her a glass, and puts it in her hand. The glass is small, so she downs it in one go, and it burns in much the same way she thinks wood polish might as it goes down, and then settles warm in her belly. "Mm. It is the good stuff. Sorry, Rosie, I'd offer you some, but whiskey gives you gas." the hound in question snorts, possibly with indignation, or possibly in agreement. It can be hard to tell. 

"Is that what you're doing, by the way?" Hawke continues. "Celebrating?"

"Maker's breath, Hawke. No." she imagines him pushing his hand through his hair. It's funny, that she can picture that, but she had seen him in the Fade, after all. It's strange, to put a face to the name, the voice, the scent. Same for Isabela, for Anders, although he was a little _cracked and glowing_ in there. "I was... trying to get my head on straight. That's all."

"Well damn. Getting drunk does seem to be a good way to do that." Hawke sets her glass down. "I'm glad I got here before the bottle was gone. Do you want to sit and maybe explain some things to me? You do love to talk, after all."

Varric sighs again, and she hears him pull up a chair and sit. He leans his elbows on the table. "That whole time we were in the Fade," he starts, "nothing felt real."

"Well of course not, Varric. It's the Fade." she huffs. "Nothing _is_ real. Not real like out here. Except, of course, the terrible feeling you get when your dwarfy friend tries to put a crossbow bolt through your gut. By the way," she sniffs disdainfully, "Bianca's got a terrible wench-y sound in the Fade. You ought to get that looked at."

"Low blow, Hawke." he mutters. "Don't bring a man's crossbow into this."

"What I mean is, Varric," she taps her glass on the table. "It's the Fade, and you knew that going in, didn't you? I know non-mages don't have the _firmest_ grasp on what that means, but-"

"I'm not just a 'non-mage', Hawke, I'm a dwarf." he pours her a bit more whiskey, then himself. "We don't dream."

She pauses. "...wait, seriously? At all?"

"Never."

"You mean to say," she downs the whiskey. Hears him do the same. "You mean to tell me that last evening was your first time in the Fade, at all?"

"That's what I'm saying, Hawke." he grimaces. "And believe me, it's definitely not an experience I want to repeat anytime soon. I don't know how you humans handle it. Elves, either. Or... shit. I don't know if Qunari dream."

"They have mages. They must." she leans forward, and thinks. She hadn't considered this. There had been virtually no dwarves at all in Lothering, and she's not really up to date on her knowledge of their magical abilities aside from, you know, them having none. It makes sense that they can't dream, then, except she's never really thought about it before. And coming from Varric, especially... "You mean to say you make all those stories up, have all these ideas, and you don't _dream_?"

"Not once." he leans back in his chair. It creaks a little. 

"...alright, I'm mad at you right now, but later- remind me to be thoroughly impressed."

"Noted."

"Anyway. Varric." she sighs. "...dammit. Here I was, entirely ready to give you the tongue-lashing of the century, but now you've thrown a wrench in all that. Dwarves don't dream. You don't ever have issues with demons. You've never been tempted..." she scowls. "Drat. That gets 'Bela off the hook, too, she's no mage. I doubt a demon's ever tried to bargain with her before. Not that it was difficult." 

"She went down too, huh?"

"She said, and I quote, 'I like big boats. I cannot lie.' And then tried to stab me."

"That does sound like Rivaini." he chuckles, softly. Then he leans forward again. "...I am sorry, Hawke. And I want you to know- I would never choose a demon over you. Not while I'm conscious and sober, anyway." 

"Not very reassuring. You'll just run off with a Desire demon the next time you're drunk." Hawke huffs. "...Oh, I suppose I forgive you. Just don't do it again. It was my first time seeing you," she furrows her brow, "and I had to put the pointy end of my staff right through your heart." she doesn't think she'll ever forget the look on his face. She'd been so excited to see him, at first, and then to have him turn on her, to have to kill him... "It wasn't my favorite experience."

"Duly noted, Giggles." his voice is quiet. Then he grins. She knows he is. He has to be. "So. Do you finally appreciate my rugged, dwarven manliness now?"

It startles a laugh out of her. She leans forward, still giggling, and Varric cackles, and by the time she leaves, the whiskey is gone, and they're friends again. 

And Varric promises to tell her whenever he has good liquor, from now on, which is as much as she can ask of any man.


End file.
